


Where Are You?

by Ghostinthehouse



Series: Demon and Angel Professors [23]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 13:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21137474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostinthehouse/pseuds/Ghostinthehouse
Summary: Crowley opened the outer door of the greenhouse, leaned one bony shoulder against the frame and demanded in scathing tones, "Just what is going on here?"





	Where Are You?

Crowley opened the outer door of the greenhouse, leaned one bony shoulder against the frame and demanded in scathing tones, "Just  _what_ is going on here?" Someone help him, if they were hurting the kid, he was not going to be responsible for- 

"She's lost!" somebody blurted. Botany postgrad student, he registered at a glance. Experienced enough with him for the fear to be beginning to mellow into respect.

He emerged fully, pulling the door to behind him and moved cautiously towards the source of the endless wailing. He saw a small kid in a blue dress, curled in a ball on the ground, hands clamped over their? her? ears, crying with the sort of heart-tugging exhaustion that suggested they had been at it for a long time, and a whole load of people hovering round them, all talking over each other to try and coax them out. "Oh, for Earth's sake," he growled, putting an edge on the words all but guaranteed to slice through the babble, "give the kid some _space_."

A bunch of the kid-coaxers jolted up at the words, saw him standing there, and got out of there at top speed.

Another bunch started to turn on him to scold him back, saw the look on his face and clearly thought better of it, prefering to stomp off in a huff over not being allowed to unhelpfully 'helpful'.

Crowley studied the handful of sturdier hearts remaining and they backed off too, but didn't entirely leave. "I'll call the creche, see if they're missing one. Back in a moment." He shrugged back into the jacket he'd removed to check over the plants in the warmth of the botany greenhouse, dug his phone from its usual pocket, and dragged a folding chair outside with him. He slouched into his seat an arm's length from the kid, and thumbed through the list of offices he'd had entered into his phone until he reached the symbol for the childcare and creche. "Crowley here," he said, when they answered, his voice hard but neutral. "You missing a kid? Got a lost one here. Blue dress, brown hair, preschool age."

"Sounds like Jess," a light voice came back, unflustered by his tone, "she's something of an escape artist. I'll send the parents over - where are you?"

"Botany greenhouse, east door."

"I'll let them know."

The call ended and Crowley looked up at the few lingering students. "Parents are on the way. Don't you have lessons to get to?" They scattered, finally, and he settled back in the chair, slipped in an earbud, and let the speech-to-text pick up the student essays he was grading where he'd paused. To all appearances, he was just slouched silently in a chair, intent on his phone. Behind his sunglasses and without turning his head, he was watching the kid.

In the resulting quiet, the sobs ebbed into hiccups and the kid uncurled a little. The hands came away from the ears, now that the cacophany of coaxing had stopped and she finally sat up a bit and looked at him. He recognised the kid from the cafe and studiously paid no notice except to shift his position enough to put his better leg closer to her, until curiosity drove her to climb to her feet and come closer. Then he turned his head and said, "Hello again."

A small tearstained face. Grazed hands and knees. Scuffed shoes. "Wassat?"

"Work stuff. Boring." He paused the essay anyway.

She pulled a face.

He pulled one back.

A tiny watery smile emerged and she edged in to lean against his (good) leg.

He put phone and earbud away as Aziraphale bustled up leading a younger couple. "They weren't sure of the way," he explained, and Crowley nodded even as the pair swept Jess into their arms with cries of relief.

"Bring her in if you like," he said, dry but not harsh. "There's water, and a first aid kit. Easy enough to clean her up."


End file.
